


To Be Without Your Being

by copernicusjones



Category: Harvest Moon, Harvest Moon: Animal Parade
Genre: Canon Related, Established Relationship, F/M, Ghosts, Love Triangles, Mild Language, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Alternating, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Poor Life Choices, Rejection, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-18 13:37:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14853794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copernicusjones/pseuds/copernicusjones
Summary: Tom loved Anna, and she loved him back.  But fate tragically intervened, leaving Tom trapped  in a state worse than death.Then along comes Renee, who reminds him so much of his beloved.  Her brilliant smile, her gentle soul—and the handsome farm boy who won't leave her side.Toby, always satisfied with letting life take whichever path it pleases, is forced to take action.  He won't sit idly by as Renee continues to put herself in harm's way.  He'll do whatever it takes—even teaming up with someone more dangerous than Tom—to ensure Renee's safety, so they can spend the rest of their lives together.Before she ends up spending the eternity of her afterlife with Tom.





	1. Without Your Going

**Author's Note:**

> Fic and chapter titles taken from the Pablo Neruda poem, 'Perhaps Not To Be Is To Be Without Your Being'

_I can see them on the shore below me, his arms secure around her waist as he picks her up and wheels her around, a spray of sand gusting from beneath her bare feet as they kick out. She laughs again, oblivious to everything around her except him._

_She has forgotten me._

* * *

Ghosts aren't real. Toby had always thought of them as a far-too-complicated, yet vague, kind of excuse that people use during the grieving process instead of the simple acceptance of facing reality. Otherwise they're just figments that star in stories to scare the likes of Paolo and Chloe and Taylor and (only sometimes) Luke into behaving where they might otherwise find themselves overstepping boundaries.

But that leaves Toby with no explanation to the _very real_ fear that rises in his chest every time that he and Renee walk back from Harmonica Beach, and the disembodied voice—sometimes sad, sometimes scared, sometimes angry, but _never_ welcoming—that swims around him. The one that, if Renee hears it as well, she never mentions or shows any reaction to.

 _"Stop..."_ he'll hear when his fingers lace into Renee's. _"Don't_..." The voice spits when Renee's head rests on his shoulder..

And when they kiss goodbye, he's left with a shiver that has nothing to do with the way Renee's lips play on his. Instead, there's a twinge in him, like a fishhook catching into his middle and it's not a pleasant sort of snag either, like when he saw Renee in her dress at Jin and Anissa's wedding. It's the sort of stab that threatens of something more and on the night of the Summer Festival, as he and Renee kiss under the glowing fountain of fireworks, it's sharper than ever and he sees Renee's brilliant smile as she pulls away from him, but all he _hears_ is a ringing in his mind that seems to come from every direction.

" _Or I will_ _ **make you stay away."**_

* * *

_She is beautiful as ever. No wonder that strange boy appears to be washed out by the sun, with his faded smile and equally faded silver hair. It's from too much time with her, the way she shines so bright, that even the sun pales in comparison. He is not worthy of being in her presence, nor is that other boy, the rumpled-looking one whose innocent smile is masking his true intentions. Even I am not worthy of her, and if I am not, no one is._

* * *

When Renee leaves Harmonica Beach around noon because she promised she'd show Chloe the newborn foal, just weeks old, Toby wants to be disappointed. But it's like the ebb tide, the way the overwhelming sense of dread that's been hovering over him drifts away when Renee departs. He can hear his own thoughts again without staticky threats cutting through them, can snack on the rice balls he brought along without his stomach twisting at every bite.

Add to that that their date hasn't been much of a date for the past few hours anyway, with Kevin doing his own fishing down the shoreline a little ways.

At one time, Toby had seen the rancher as a rival for Renee's affections, which was more than just his own insecurity about being able to offer Renee anything more than unwavering support. Even as a farmer, Kevin's visits to Horn Ranch seemed far too frequent to be based solely on his occupation. But one Friday, as Toby had been helping Renee brush through sheeps' matted wool, he commented that, strangely, Kevin wasn't here.

Renee's response, unmarred by any sort of offense, was that Kathy didn't come by for horseback riding on Fridays.

After that, Kevin had become one of Toby's closest friends. They weren't attached at the hip, not like Luke and Owen or the Sonata Tailor sisters, but Toby found there were very few people he could explicitly trust like Kevin, who was kind to a fault and would bend over backwards to help anyone in need— the entire Island, for example.

Kevin lets out a victorious whoop as he reels in a fat salmon, and when Toby realizes that this sight is making him happier than his own fishing—the fear for his own well-being replaced only with a foreboding sense of knowing it can return at any moment, and undoubtedly will—he decides to call it a day, at least here on Harmonica Beach. The sun is setting on the warm fall day, anyway, a sign that the Tuna he'd been hoping to catch have probably swam off by now.

"Tobes!" Kevin calls as Toby starts to walk off, fishing rod resting over his shoulder. The rancher catches up to him, his own rod set over his shoulder as well, salmon dangling from it by a string. "What's up? You seem spacier than usual. If that's possible." He elbows Toby playfully, the earnestness of his question tempting Toby to explain _everything_.

But Toby doesn't answer; he can't answer, only gawk. Behind Kevin, only a few feet away, is a young man not much older than Toby himself, but much less alive. His features are colorless, only opaque shades of gray. Through him Toby can see the outlines of the lighthouse, the crag of rocks and the foamy edges of the waves, except all of it is hazy, as if looking through fog.

And his eyes—his cloudy, menacing stare—is fixed on Toby.

There's a strong, unpleasant taste that forms in Toby's mouth as he is frozen to the spot. Not nausea, just something rotten, as if he's accidentally inhaled a huge whiff of fish guts and it's settled there. He can _feel_ the animosity seething from the ghost as it takes another step toward the two of them, the angry crackling that Toby's become so accustomed to returning with a vengeance and stinging behind his eyes, under his skin.

"Earth to Toby, come in Toby!" Kevin waves his free hand frantically in Toby's line of vision, and Toby uses his own available hand to snatch Kevin's down.

His voice lowers to the barest whisper, although he isn't stupid enough to assume that the ghost can't hear him anyway. "Kevin. On the count of three... run. One..."

"What?!"

In Kevin's confusion, the grip on his pole has gone lax, and before Toby can get "Two" out of his mouth, the rod zips off Kevin's shoulder, the salmon and its string zinging through the air.

Kevin whirls around, swearing loudly in surprise— he must see the rod floating in midair of it's own accord. But Toby can see the ghost with a firm hold on it, intensity literally glowing in his otherwise glassy eyes, much like Luke when he's about to mega-ultra-chop a tree down.

Toby knows he's supposed to move, to protect his friend somehow, but he can't; it's like there's wires crossed from his mind to his movements and he stays as he and watches in horror as the iron rod whips into Kevin's side with the crunch of fracturing bone.

Kevin falls to the sand, arms crossed at his stomach as he kicks around in agony. Toby, too, as if being forced down by an invisible hand, is pushed to his knees and in his peripheral he spots Kevin's fishing rod dropping out of the air.

_"Don't go near Anna again. Do I make myself clear?"_

And then it's over, the cool of the evening driving away the ominous sensation from the air like a window being thrown open.

He doesn't say anything, only gets to his feet and helps a moaning Kevin up. Kevin's arm slings over Toby's shoulder, and they both almost tumble to the ground again when Kevin jerks in pain.

In the back of Toby's reeling mind is the knowledge that his fishing rod, for the first time ever, is being left behind. He doesn't care.

Kevin rambles the whole way to the clinic—"What the hell just happened?! What was that? Didn't you _feel_ that? Do you know what's going on, Toby?"—his eyes wild and rimmed with tears by the time Irene and Dr. Jinall but drag him back to the examination room. Through Kevin's nonstop babbling Toby catches Jin ordering Irene to bring him sedatives. Then the door shuts in his face but not after he hears Kevin spouting out that " _He_ needs help too!" and Toby knows that it's not him Kevin's referring to.

After waiting in the lobby for close to an hour, Dr. Jin reappears Toby simply that Kevin would do best with no visitors, and a good night's rest.

Toby doesn't know how to explain that he isn't hanging around waiting for Kevin—he assumes Kev is already fast asleep, drained from a mix of medication and pain. The truth is that he does not feel safe walking back to the Fishery, the few short minutes it takes.

So he begins the long walk to Horn Ranch, detouring to Kevin's home to drop off some of his friend's belongings on the front porch, and to make sure that all the animals are inside their respective domiciles.

All the while he ruminates if maybe he _should_ listen to ghost, and stay away from Renee.

In most situations, his natural instinct is that he remain as passive as could be to any of this; he detests conflict, prefers to stay outside of any drama, no matter how small. It's always been easier, and not the least bit sapping of his pride (not like some of the other males on Castanet) to bend to what others wanted, if it meant that it could keep stress out of his life.

He'd always been so content to just let life happen, to let any-and-everyone else be the ones who took initiative.

Now one of his best friends has been injured, and who's to say that the ghost, in its illogical rage, wouldn't hurt Paolo or Uncle Ozzie if he saw them around Renee? What if he'd hurt Renee herself?

On the other hand, to think about living the rest of his life without hearing her musical laugh, inhaling her fresh hay-and-flower scent when she cuddled next to him, watching her face light up when she reeled in a fish bigger than the one he caught, and all because he couldn't man up and face down a _pathetic_ (though insane and possibly homicidal) spirit...

He has to do something. And he will, tomorrow, because there's nothing else that can be done tonight. Right now, he just wants to feel Renee in his arms again, run his fingers through her silk-like hair and kiss her in a way that would follow her into her dreams every night, hoping for it again and again.

Cain passes him on the bridge to Flute Fields, and Toby blushes slightly as he returns the greeting, knowing Renee's father wouldn't be so cheerful if he knew what thoughts were dancing in Toby's head, most of them suggestively involving his daughter.

Renee's on the front porch humming a tune to herself, polishing and cleaning a handful of her tools, not taking notice Toby until he's only a few steps away.

A smile graces her lips as he nears her, and she sets aside her tools. "Tob-AAAH!"

He slips his arms around Renee and pulls her body flush to his, pausing only long enough to take in her shocked but happy expression before kissing her so passionately that her knees give and she wilts against him.

She blinks up at him with those adorable doe-like eyes, her mouth parted as her breath puffs out. "My mom's with the horses in the stable... she'll be there at least another two hours."

"Your dad's on his way to the Brass Bar."

"And you're..."

"I'm..?" Toby's thoughts are too jumbled for him to come up with a clever or even multi-syllabic response.

"Stopping by for a little while?" Renee crushes her lips back onto him, pushing up on her toes and weaving her fingers into Toby's messy silver hair.

Toby gropes for the door handle behind them; it flies open and they stumble back inside, legs tripping around each other's, all the while connected in a kiss.

There's no stupid ghost and its threats to stop him, to scream at him to stay away this time, and even if there was... he wouldn't. He _can't_ stay away from her; he loves her so much and she loves him, she tells him an hour later as they lay undressed under the cozy homemade quilt on her bed.

He means to tell her about Kevin, about the ghost, but he doesn't because it's too late to do anything about it tonight, and she's so beautiful when she's sleeping.  Peaceful and worry-free and even though it's the ghost's _fault_ , Toby'll be the one to destroy that peace.

Just not until morning.

* * *

_Will I ever see my Anna again? I wish I could tell her how sorry I am that we fought, and could know somehow that her love for me did not perish with my earthly form. And what of her; is she living out her days in doubt that I loved her until my final breath? Or has she found another to dance with, to laugh with, to kiss, to_ _**love**. I refuse to believe that she would do such a thing to me, but I must know. I must, or my soul will never find the serenity it so desperately seeks._

* * *

"I can't believe you didn't tell me Kevin was hurt" Renee is speed-walking into town and Toby is huffing along at her heels. It's too early for him to be awake, let alone practically jogging over a mile.

He swallows in the crisp morning air, and notices that it's void of anything sinister—he's taken it for granted for so long. "But you wouldn't have been able to see him, I didn't want to... worry you." _Or ruin the mood,_ he adds mentally. "Renee, it's not just that he was _hurt_ , it's how—"

"A ghost, I know, you said that." When she throws a glance back at him, he can tell that she's not truly mad at him, that her short tone is more from being concerned about Kevin.

"I don't know how else... what else to tell you..." Toby stops her in front of the clinic door with a gentle touch of her arm. He can't stand how poor he is with words most of the time, especially when it comes to saying "the right thing"; it's always something that strikes him hours later, and not at the proper time, like he's always a step behind everyone else.

But Renee still takes his hand when it glides down to hers, and they enter the clinic together.

Kevin's awake, sitting up in bed with a hefty book on his blanketed lap and a plate of cubed fruit and eggs on the bedside table. His clinic-issued robe is open and exposing his bandage-wrapped chest.

He flicks a smile up when Toby and Renee step in, and gestures to the tome that's open, wincing noticeably from the simple motion of waving his arm. "Bit of light reading." Upon closer inspection, Toby sees it's an anatomy encyclopedia.

There's a glaze in Kevin's eyes, most likely a result of some powerful medication. Toby can't believe that twelve hours ago he was teetering so close to insanity, babbling incoherently with something much stronger than just the shock of being attack so suddenly and savagely.

Renee ignores his greeting-by-way-of-joke and with a steel in her voice that is uncharacteristic but nonetheless incredibly attractive, barrels right into the issue at hand. "Toby said you were attacked by a _ghost_ last night. Because of me."

Renee is a strong woman, in her subtle way; Toby knows that, and her demanding tone lets Kevin know too. In this moment, however, her quiet reserve is all a mask; she's just as scared as Toby is, as Kevin was last night. Her hand is squeezing Toby's in a death grip, so hard that it's shaking.

Of all the expressions Toby would have expected from Kevin at such a bizarre accusation, it isn't the half-smile of relief he's currently wearing, as though asked to spill a secret he's been carrying around forever.

"Yeah, I've been thinking about it all morning... At first I thought it was the meds making me loopy but it makes more sense than anything else, that it's a ghost. Not sure about the 'because of you' part; he said something about... Anna, I think? And—"

" _Tom._.." Renee gasps out, the hand that isn't clamping the life out of Toby's flying to her mouth and muffling the rest of her words slightly, but not enough that Toby doesn't hear them.

"Who?" The boys ask simultaneously, Kevin's sounding more conversational whereas Toby can hear his own desperation—he's about to get a name to go with the transparent face that has been trying to swoop in on his girlfriend.

"Tom. He... was my great-grandmother Anna's boyfriend. They were planning to get married, until..." Her words trail off, the rest of the sentence obvious, considering the form he's in. "I read about it... about him... in her diary. They were so in love, and...  I always hoped that I would have something like that... someday. I even had the music box he gave her right before he...  _left,_ but I have no idea where it is now."

Kevin lets out a derisive noise through his nose, and opens his robe a little further to fully show off his bandaged torso. "Well,  _this_ is what Mr. Romantic _Tom_ did to me. Three broken ribs."

"I'm sure he didn't mean to—"

"Didn't mean to?! Renee, let me tell you exactly what happened, and then you let me know what he _meant_."

Kevin doesn't show much emotion through his explanation; he's actually quite matter -of-fact about it all, as if he'd just read about it in his big anatomy encyclopedia before Toby and Renee walked in. He relays a play-by-play of the moment of attack up until the world went black from the sedatives Dr. Jin injected in him.

The mention of the attack brings Toby's thoughts back to the fact that his pole is still on the beach (hopefully, and not washed away), and an itch runs through his fingers. He flexes them at his side, telling himself that he'll have his most prized possession back sooner rather than later.

Kevin's recollection is nowhere near as vivid as what Toby remembers, not the actions anyway, and that's to be expected considering how violent and abrupt it was. But then Kevin describes what he _felt_.

"It was like... you _were_ him. It was like being able to read his thoughts, but... you could _feel_ them instead. He was so... I don't think I've ever been that _upset_ before, so _jealous_ that I couldn't see straight. But it wasn't really _me_ feeling it, if that makes any sense at all."

It makes perfect sense to Toby. He mutters in agreement, grateful but a little envious of how articulate Kevin can be about it, after only one run-in with the spirit. He hasn't been _jealous_ during his encounters, but the anger that's boiled under him, the disappointment or possessiveness that is _not_ him, not at all, that's been so overpowering it's made him physically ill.

He's still silently sifting through his thoughts, on each and every occurrence, when Renee asks Kevin if Tom said anything about _why_ he's acting this way; everything she's read about in Anna's diary has been nothing but what a gentleman, a kind-hearted, hard-working farmer Tom was.

"I'm pretty sure what he _wants_ is every guy within a fifty-foot radius of you dead, Renee. He doesn't even know he's a ghost, I bet. He thinks you're Anna, and that we're some unworthy jerks stepping in on you. The Wizard told me all about this kind of stuff when I thought there was a ghost haunting the church, how most of them don't even know they're dead and they just—"

"The Wizard," Toby cuts in. "He could fix this, right?" The Wizard who lived just up the lane from Choral Clinic would be able to put a stop to this haunting, if anyone could. Or the Witch, but from everything Toby's heard about her from Kevin, she wasn't keen on helping humans, only causing them more misery.

Renee gives him a skeptical look; he would too, if he were in her place. But he's not going to let it reach the point where she, or anybody else he cares about, is in the same position Kevin is now—or worse. The _anger_ that Tom emanated—it's the closest Toby's come to it, right now, imagining something this harrowing happening to Renee, and him being unable to stop it, as was the case with Kevin.

"Uh... I don't know. I guess, if anyone could, then, yeah, it'd be him."

"Or I could," Renee says firmly.

" _Renee_!" Toby tugs her closer to him at the same time that Kevin lets out an incredulous " _What?_!"

"What, ' _what'_?" She breaks her hand away from Toby's and gives him a hardened stare, as if it's just the two of them in the room. "I'll just ask him to stop being so... horrible, and just explain there's a misunderstanding. If he really did care about my great-grandmother, he'd listen to _me_ , right?"

"I don't think reasoning and logic exactly applies to spirits, Renee," Kevin answers before Toby can. "You don't even know what this ghost wants from you."

"Well, it's better than not trying anything at all! And I'm not going to let him hurt you or..." She turns back to Toby, gazing up at him. "Anyone else I care about."

"And I'm not going to let him hurt _you_!" He knows his voice is rising, and he lets it. Let Kevin hear, let Dr. Jin and Anissa and Irene hear in the Clinic. Let Tom the damned ghost hear, wherever he is.

"He won't. Tom wouldn't, not if he thinks I'm Grandma Anna. He loved her. The way I love you." She pushes onto her toes and makes his decision for him with a soft kiss.

* * *

_Is it so? It is; it is my Anna, coming to see me at last._

_I do not advance too quickly to her, and do my best to appear as if it has only been but a day since we've last seen each other, when it has been nothing short of an eternity. To see her again, I can not contain my joy and I close the distance between us, reaching my hand to brush her cheek._

_"Anna..."_

_She gasps; her eyes widen, fresh and alive, as if she has just been awakened from a long slumber. They are not the blue pieces of summer sky that I once fell into. She tells me that, indeed, she is not my love, that her name is Renee. But other than her eyes, she is in every part my Anna... it must be her._

" _It's_ _ **me.**_ _Tom. Anna, don't you remember..." My hand falls away from her face, and I drop my gaze from her, filled with the utmost humiliation; clearly she does not. When I do this, I hear a tiny sob escape her lips and that only deepens my shame._

_I do not grasp what she's saying. Hurting? Her friends?_

_I would never have hurt anyone who Anna considered a friend, because they were my friends as well. The only person I ever held any true disdain for was that meddling Witch, and that had been for all of ten minutes. Her reaction to my rejection of her insistence that I love her instead —as if love worked that way!—resulted in my untimely passing._

_But Anna tells me of a Kevin, of a Toby. I have never known anyone by these names, and can not even recall a single moment outside of this one now, with her standing before me. How could I have done anything to these men if I were not there to do it? I try to tell her this, but she only blinks, confused, as though my words are nonsense._

_Then she speaks of the beach—I have not been there since the week before the accident that took me from this world and from my love, and again, I interrupt her to offer this piece of information._

_Again, she allows no real response. Is there anything I can say that she will hear? Or is she hearing it and ignoring me? She is the only one who can help me overcome this agony and yet she can not hear me._

_She begins to cry silently, and through the tears she shudders out a reply to my sorrow. "I'll d-do everything I can to help you, Tom."_

_I return my hand to her face in an effort to wipe the tears away. They fall into my fingers and evaporate into a mist._

* * *

Toby watches from the church plaza above, hands on the wrought iron fence with as many fingers crossed as he can physically manage. As intense as his compulsion is to stay by Renee's side, he knows it's better served that he stay a reasonable distance away considering how Tom has reacted to his presence in every other instance.

There's a profound sadness that weighs down on him, a lump rising in his throat before he can even attempt to stop it. It's the same sense of loss as when his parents passed, only magnified times ten, crawling through every nerve in his body, filling every pore. And if he can feel _that_ from here, then Renee...

He folds his arms on the fence, letting his head sink onto them in defeat, trying and failing to completely block out the conversation below. He shouldn't be able to hear it from this distance, but he can _feel_ it: Tom's despair over causing his love so much strife, his abject disbelief of even being capable of such violence, the burning cry for help that consumes him.

Renee comes dashing up the steps from the cemetery, the tracks of dried tears staining her cheeks. She flings herself into Toby's arms, clinging to him as, between fresh sobs, she repeats over and over that they need to help Tom.

He doesn't want to _help_ Tom; he wants to do the opposite, whatever that may be where ghosts are concerned. But, as was the case with Kevin's attack, where he inexplicably found himself not in control of his actions or words, he whispers into Renee's hair that maybe they should go see the Wizard.


	2. Without Your Passing

He is...  stuck."

Is the Wizard's monotone three-word reply after Renee and Toby spend a good twenty minutes recounting everything Tom-related to him. Twice during the summation, Renee verged on breaking into tears again, and that unfamiliar _anger_ returned, fluttering uncontrollably in Toby's chest like a reeled-in sardine flopping about for air.

"Stuck," Wizard repeats, when neither Toby or Renee say anything. "Time... is not a concept to him. He is in... a loop. Every day is new to him... different. He is not entirely human and does not possess human qualities... such as memory, the ability to hold conversation..."

Toby is about to object to this, because Tom's threats were clear as crystal. Except, he recalls, they weren't ever actually _said_ to him. He heard them, but internally, soaked into him like a sponge.

"Does _he_ even know he's...?" Renee gestures with her hand meaninglessly to finish her question.

"Dead?" Wizard supplies. Toby wonders if the fortune teller is bored by all this, sees their predicament as trivial and silly, ignorant humans that they are. "At times, perhaps... but likely his reasoning skills are...weak. Most spirits are like this.. .which is why they are so dangerous, as they are... emotional residue. They can... seep into you. However, all of them seek but one goal: to pass to other side..."

Toby likes the sound of that, of Tom passing to the other side, or _any_ side that doesn't have Renee on it. Except...

"How are you supposed to help a ghost you can't talk to, or can't remember anything you say?" He probably sounds impatient, for the first time in his life. He is.

"There are... ways. Spells, or potions..." The Wizard moves to a cabinet overflowing with scrolls and parchments. "If you bring me the proper ingredients, then I could..."

"Yes!" Renee agrees without hesitation, and there's a sharp stab in Toby's chest. He tells himself that her desire to help Tom is more from the admiration of her great-grandmother, as well as Tom's manipulation of her feelings (not to mention his own, inadvertently), and not something genuinely connecting the two of them.

But he holds out the hope that ridding Tom from their lives will involve something not entirely painless, if ghosts could even feel pain at all.

What is happening to him? He's becoming no better than Tom, this sickening, terrible possessiveness that's constantly bobbing on the surface of every decision he makes.

"Death's Release." Wizard unbands a small, faded scroll, that is scribbled in undecipherable symbols that must make sense only to him. "It is a potion, used on the spirit's grave that causes the spirit to retain some of its humanity...and abilities. But do not be deceived; he would not truly be alive. While he may reacquire some of his... living traits, he would still be ruled by... what keeps him in the spiritual realm."

"So he'd still be dangerous?"

"Toby, he's not—" Renee starts, but Wizard provides the answer before Renee can finish her protest.

"Possibly. Possibly not. Each spirit... is different. There is no universal definition befitting of all spirits, other than their wish to find peace. Unfortunately, even with this spell... not all attempts to help spirits in their crossing are successful..."

It sounds simple enough. _Too_ easy, the way Toby would normally like it, if it wasn't so obvious there had to be a catch somewhere.

"What...  _are_ the ingredients?" Toby remembers the summer before this one, when Kevin had to bring the Wizard a few things to create a potion to help the Witch. It hadn't exactly been a timely process, at least two weeks passing before Kevin could round up the proper items.

Wizard reads from his sheet. "Pontata Root, several blue herbs..."

 _Easy enough,_ Toby thinks, and the delighted smile on Renee's face shows she's on the same page.

"Soil from the decedent's grave..."

At first that's almost a deal breaker; he wants to go back to Tom's resting place one more time, and one time only, and that's to do away with him for good. But then he remembers that Tom only seemed to materialize when Renee was around. Otherwise, it was just any old cemetery. As long as Renee wasn't anywhere near by, it should be a cinch to scoop up a jar full of dirt.

"And... the DNA of the one who is to help him. Hair or saliva is usually what is provi—"

"The...  _o-one?_ "

"Yes." The Wizard lowers his scroll, his dichromatic eyes settling on Toby. "Only one may be tasked with this responsibility."

Toby's heart plummets like a fishing weight, except that usually meant a favorable outcome was imminent.

Somehow, he doesn't believe that will be the case here.

* * *

_With a start, I find myself gasping—gasping!—for air, but nothing enters, and just as suddenly as it began, it stops and my world comes into focus._

_My Anna has returned to me. At last!_

_When I move to be near her I stumble like a newborn calf, unaccustomed to how solid the ground is beneath my feet. Anna's hand is clasped over her mouth as she watches me. I nearly fall against her but right myself, knowing how ridiculous I must appear to her._

_"You... you finally came back to me." I reach my hand to her face and when I do this, a certain image forms—that I have done this before._

_"Tom..." Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath before popping them back open. And then I see that they are not the pools of sparkling blue that belonged to Anna. "I'm not...I 'm not Anna."_

_I don't want to believe her; there is so little conviction to her trembling words, I don't think she believes herself. So how am I to trust her? The answer comes as my palm cradles her cheek; I have no reason not to. I can feel it, a peculiar charge that rushes through me, that I don't want to ever go away._

_"Anna was my... my mother's grandmother. She's been.._.  _ **dead**_ _for over twenty years. My name is Renee."_

_"Renee..." I hear the name come from my lips, unsure, as if I'm testing a new language. I repeat it, and then the rest of her words come crashing over me_

_I tear myself away from her, bringing my arm to my face to prevent her from seeing the anguish that has me in its clutches. I was always Anna's knight, her hero; she never saw me wracked in this much turmoil; no matter what was tormenting me, I remained her strong, steadfast rock. I can not allow Renee to view me in this state, either._

_But_ _**oh!** —_ _if my Anna is gone, then that means... she did not love me to her dying breath, as she promised she would when we spoke of our plans to wed. I would have met her when she shuffled from the mortal plane onto mine, and would not be lingering here, a wretched, suffering, inhuman mess._

_Letting out a great cry of frustration, I kick at my gravestone. It vibrates, and I see the scuff mark of a boot left behind. It must have been there before now; I couldn't have done that...could I?_

_"Tom! Tom, listen, it's okay. My great-grandmother loved you..." Renee takes me by both shoulders and my knees almost give way. I felt nothing from striking my gravestone, yet her hands on me... it's as if she has a power over not just my body but my soul as well, much like Anna had. Yet with Anna, it took years._

_Even though sheer logic proves otherwise, I, again, instinctively trust her without any justification other than that she is the one telling me._

_I compose myself enough to ask her to elaborate, and she tells me about Anna's diary. She describes the diary in detail, from its leather-bound cover to the number of pages it held, and the tiny, meticulous handwriting Anna filled it with._

_How the fairytale-like accounts of our days together transformed into poems of grief, of tear-stained unfinished entries when I met my demise. Of the fifteen-year hiatus before strings of confessions that she never loved her new husband—the farmer who took over my ranch—even a fraction of the way she loved me, and how often she thought of taking her own life just to be with me again._

_The only thing that kept her from doing so was the music box I presented her with only days before my death._

_Even years later she could listen to it, close her eyes and remember us dancing to the waltz it played—our last dance. Though our last words to each other were argumentative, there was no denying, as Renee tells me is verbatim from Anna's diary, "true love did not end with death"._

_A flood of.._.  _of_ **_memories_** _assault me without warning._

_Distinctly, I can hear the music box's tune, the one-two-three, one-two-three pace as Anna and I swept around the open expanse of the barn floor, laughing as we bumped into disgruntled cows and sheep. I taste the sweetness of her lips as we found ourselves overcome with passion and toppled into the nearest haystack, shedding our clothes and inhibitions._

_The lucidity of these images is astounding—after having laid dormant for so long, I find it remarkable that they're so vibrant._

_Cautiously, I reach up to remove Renee's hand from my shoulder. The way that Anna's delicate hand fit so perfectly in mine... I can feel that as I weave Renee's fingers with my own. She stops abruptly in the middle of her sentence, her eyes—brown, not blue but equally as enchanting—peeled with wonder and I_ _**know** _ _,_ **_know_ ** _she feels something too._

_I've always been leery to consider magic, with the way V claimed she could and would use it on me (and finally, did), but there's no other explanation to how... alive I feel with her right now._

_"The music box... if you have it, I want it. I... I_ **_need_** _it." I need to_ ** _hear_** _it one more time—I know that doing so will be the key to sending me back to Anna—to where she is._

_"I... I don't know where it is, Tom. I'll look for it, but I don't know when... or if..." She slips from my touch, turning her back to me as she sniffles. "I'm sorry..."_

_"Then..." I can't bear to see her so disheartened, as if it is her fault that the box is missing after all these years. I take her upper arm and face her back to me. The prospect of her agreeing—I know she will—to what I'm about to ask of her brings a lightness to my request and a smile to my face. "At least... in the meanwhile, promise to visit me. Please, Renee."_

_She nods, returning my smile with a shy, lip-biting one of her own._

_The exact same one that Anna always sported, that I couldn't stop myself from falling in love with._

* * *

The only thing that hurts more than Toby's foot is his pride.

It was idiotic to kick Tom's gravestone when he collected the dirt for Wizard's potion three weeks ago. He knew this before he did it, as he was doing it, and especially now, with his pinkie toe broken and smarting every time he puts pressure on that side of his right foot.

It's nothing compared to the ever-growing hole forming inside him, every time Renee speaks about Tom.

It _is_ sort of his fault; he only want happiness for Renee and being able to share the memories of her great-grandmother with Tom brings her just that.

She just wants to help Tom, she tells Toby whenever he makes her aware that Tom shouldn't be trusted, no matter how life-like the Wizard's potion has made him—he's still the deranged lunatic that hurt Kevin, that had no qualms about wishing death on him just because he was in Renee's company.

But Renee always wants to help everyone, it's part of who she is and why he loves her so much, but she does so without considering any of the risks, consequences of being so unfailingly dedicated to her endeavors. Not everyone deserves help, or would truly benefit from it.

He knows all the stories, either from Renee or her family or friends. How she broke her arm when they were thirteen, falling from the tree while picking apples at Marimba Farm because (even though Craig snapped that they didn't need it), she just wanted to help. When she was eight, Hanna shooed her away while milking cows.  But Renee _just wanted to help_ and didn't listen, and ended up being kicked by a frightened Bessie, leaving her with a bruise that took all summer to fade.

One time before they were dating, Toby had been grounded for being out fishing way after curfew and Renee had stopped by the Fishery to help him with his punishment of cleaning the shop—just wanting to help, as always. He knew it wasn't a good idea to have her around, that Uncle Ozzie was already upset with him, and that she'd just be a distraction. But he never said no to her...

It turned out he was more of a distraction, and amid their juvenile attempts at flirting, Renee accidentally grabbed a rusty hook by the wrong end, and had to be escorted to the clinic for a tetanus shot.

All of this is nothing compared to what Tom could do to her if she's not careful because she's too invested in wanting to _help_ his poor, wandering soul.

As it is, he can't bring himself to confess to Renee, or anyone other than Kevin, that he is actually _jealous_ of a ghost—or whatever Tom is now, thanks to Wizard's spell. From everything Renee's mentioned, Tom was a successful farmer, as well as athletically skilled, fond of swimming (with Anna being fond of Tom in his swimming attire). And Toby has seen Tom with his own eyes; he can admit that, objectively, Tom is a classically good-looking guy: tall, with his straight nose, angled cheekbones and well-groomed hair.

"You're freaking out about this way too much," Kevin tells him, on one of the many days that Toby's stopped by, picking up the chores of animal brushing and feeding while Kevin's ribs heal. "How long have you two been together, now?"

"Since we were seventeen. Almost five years." Kevin's newest lamb, Jeanie, bleats at Toby, as if impressed.

"And you think some zombie jerk's going to get between you?"

 _Yes_ , _that's exactly what I think_. "I think some zombie jerk isn't going to have it any other way."

"Tobes, where's your faith in Renee? You think she'd let that happen?"

Toby makes a non-committal humming noise. Kevin is right. Renee is the one who is adamant about finding the music box, to help Tom return to the other side and to Anna, and as much time as Renee has spent with Tom, Toby can't imagine that it's gone by without mention that Renee herself has a someone in her life the way Tom had in Anna. If anything was going on (if it even _could_ ), it would have already.

After finishing grooming Jeanie, he bids Kevin goodbye and takes off for Horn Ranch, for another Wednesday of helping Renee comb the attic up, down and inside-out for the music box.

It's a bitterly cold Winter day, bone-chilling winds causing Toby's eyes to water and his nose to run. The Flute River is iced over, thin cracks webbing intricate designs throughout. He hopes its not this frigid tomorrow night, at the Starry Night Festival. He doesn't want his knee to go numb when he gets down on it and presents Renee with the Blue Feather that's currently locked in his dresser drawer.

He tells himself he'd be doing it regardless of Tom's existence—that ever since he met Renee when they were eleven, he knew that one day he'd be asking her to be his wife. This is the sort of thing he can't tell Kevin—just how deeply his love does run. Kevin is a guppy when it comes to relationships, Kathy being his first real girlfriend. He couldn't begin to fathom how heart-wrenching it is for Toby to, even hypothetically, imagine his life without Renee by his side.

But he knows, ultimately, if it means Renee's happiness, he'd let her go. What he _doesn't_ know is what he'd do with himself.

It turns out, the one person who does understand is Anna.

After a dozen "No, be careful with that!"s and "Oh, that's expensive, don't touch that!"s, Toby's made himself comfortable on a dust-stained divan with Anna's diary as reading material. He knows when Renee gets herself committed to a project, sometimes the best assistance is just to stay out of her way, and that's what he's doing, as she dismantles an old bureau and rifles through a trunk spilling over with vintage jewelry and other feminine trinkets in search for the music box.

Renee insists that she had it as a little girl, that she remembers listening to it in her bedroom, but now she's not so sure—what if it was a different music box? How could one as valuable as Anna's just vanish into thin air?

So Toby offers to browse Anna's diary, perhaps gain a clue as to where it could be hidden. He has an ulterior motive: to learn more about Tom.

No one likes being wrong, Toby included, but he begrudgingly accepts it's better discovering via Anna's writings that Tom is every bit the shining example of chivalry Renee's made him out to be, as opposed to the unhinged demon and shameless playboy Toby's jealousy has painted him as.

The only tidbit that is even close to casting him in a negative light is that he attracted the attention of other girls on Castanet and wasn't always quick to turn them down, was content basking in their attention, much to Anna's chagrin. One, especially; a "V", who sounds like a real piece of work, a drama-exuding stalker.

Toby smirks to himself, amazed at how much he can relate to the situation of a twenty-year-old girl from approximately a hundred years ago. His smirk fades into a frown, when he reads the entry that's dated the day before Tom's death.

Anna can't believe that Tom skipped her mother's birthday dinner in order to pay this V girl a visit. Tom swears up and down that he hadn't intended to see V, that he was only around the forest chopping lumber needed to expand his coop, when V cornered him and—

With an exhausted sigh, Renee flops down onto the edge of the couch, letting her upper body fall onto Toby's. He sets the diary on the floor, and wraps his arms around her, kissing her forehead and promptly coughing from all the dust he inhales.

"I don't know what to do..." Renee whispers into Toby's shirt.

"How about..." Toby lazily runs his fingers through her hair. "I treat you to dinner at the Ocarina Inn." Is he trying too hard? It's been forever, it seems, since the two of them have been into Harmonica Town together, for more than a few minutes. He wonders if the other townspeople have noticed this as much as he has.

"I can't. Not tonight. I wouldn't be very good company." She doesn't sound disappointed, not like he is. Just distracted, and almost irritated that he asked in the first place, that he should have known better.

Toby sits up, relinquishing his embrace and brushing off the dust that's accumulated on his clothes. "Look, Renee, just let it go for now... for one day, please? You're going to make yourself sick over this."

She nods, and leans over to pick up the diary from the floor. "Okay... no luck in here?"

"No."

"Okay..." she repeats, hugging the ledger to her chest as she rises to her feet.

"I better get going before your parents wonder what we're really doing in here." He dips his head in for a kiss, and gains a quiet giggle from her. "See you tomorrow."

Toby waits for her goodbye but she just blinks at him once, twice. "...Tomorrow?"

"Yeah... the Starry Night Festival, remember?"

She drops her gaze to the floor, swiveling ever-so-slightly in place. She hasn't remembered.

"I... I already promised Tom that I'd come see him tomorrow night."

The words are like darts, each one pinning him harder than the last, all over his body. He swallows down the vitriolic reply that is fighting its way up—he does not want to say something he'll regret. He loves her. He loves her.

"I see him every Thursday night," she continues. "I just... I'm so sorry, Toby, I just forgot about the Starry Night Festival and—"

How could she forget it?! They'd spent every one together since they were twelve, with Renee and her parents selling hot cocoa from the porch at Horn Ranch. Before they were a couple, before being invited to salesman duty, he would buy two or three mugs a night, even though he hardly cared for the drink, just because he wanted his hand to graze hers as she sold it to him.

His jealousy breaks from its well-shielded confines. "Then _tell_ him you can't, because you have plans with your boyfriend. I mean, geez, Renee, you _see_ him Monday nights, and Tuesday afternoons, and don't forget nearly every Saturday and Sunday!"

"Toby, stop!" She makes a tiny squeaking noise and bites her lip, still refusing to look at him. "It doesn't... I promised him I'd visit him until I found the music box and the... Wizard's potion, I can't just... not. I'm scared, if I don't. And Tom doesn't... he doesn't know about you. As my boyfriend."

He can't even see straight, has to actively think about taking normal breaths. This is what it's like to be both so incredibly in love and _in hate_ at the same time. "Sounds like you don't know about me as your boyfriend either, Renee."

There's the splitting _crack_ of Renee's palm across his cheek, the _thonk_ of the diary that's been thrown to the floor. She's glaring at him, and it's not a reaction he's ever elicited from her before, that _anyone_ has. "You're an idiot. Did it ever occur to you he might hurt you if he knows? He doesn't have the... connection with you that he does with me, he might react how he did with Kevin! I missed meeting with him last Tuesday and he... Toby, he wasn't right. It was like he... regressed. I don't want it to happen again."

It's a fair point, but not one that Toby wants to accept right now. He massages his blazing cheek, his argument crumbling apart, despite his fervor to continue it, if only to guarantee that they'll be able to have tomorrow night together. "So... so what? What if you don't find the music box, then what? Are you going to just keep...  _seeing_ him and—"

"I'll find it. If it's the last thing I do, I'll find it. Because I don't _want_ to keep seeing him."

He aches to tell her, _But what about what Tom wants?_ Her eyes are still hardened, daring Toby to remain defiant, yet he sees the sparkle of forming tears; she's just as stung by the slap as he is.

Unable to bear seeing her like this, Toby's resolve collapses, and he takes a tentative half-step towards her. Her postures loses its stiffness, and she lets him pull her into a hug. "You know, Paolo's been complaining for years about going to the Festival with his dad. I should save him from such a fate. Maybe I could... double-up on his wish, whatever it is, maybe then it'll come true."

"I bet he'd like that. But what about yours?" Renee rubs her face into Toby's shirt, leaving dots of moisture from her eyes.

"It came true years ago..." He feels her sigh with contentment, and curl tighter into him before he adds, "Remember, I caught that Pacific Halibut when I was deep sea fishing with Pascal when I was sixteen?"

Laughing, Renee flails her arms in a fruitless attempt to give him a playful shove, but he snares her arms and stabilizes her with a kiss that doesn't end as he backs her to the nearest wall.

* * *

_Renee and I are sitting next to each other, leaning back against my gravestone and staring up at the sky. She is shivering, even bundled up in her wool coat and knit cap. Alas, there is nothing I could provide to her, or I would._

_With every visit, I find myself reminded of my love for Anna, and there is a part of me, growing larger each time, that is almost comforted knowing she's been unable to locate the music box._

_More and more, I find myself reluctant to give up this form. I am terrified when I wonder what it will be like when I do pass to... wherever I would go next. If I were to meet with Anna again, would we be able to speak to each other, to touch and laugh and kiss as we did in life?_

_Even if this is not quite being alive, it is much preferable to what Renee tells me I was before: nothing short of a monster. Was it because of the hex V placed on me before my death, that I became that way, so vindictive and restless?_

_Renee_ _truly, is less Anna's great-granddaughter and likely Anna herself, reborn. She brought me back out of the sincerest compassion and desire to_ _ **help**_ _me, a man she hardly knew yet, she claims, felt a nameless, unbreakable link to.  I, of course, can not recall this initial meeting, other than the vaguest flashes that I must have known, met Renee before that night, although it is likely only grainy retrospect of my days with Anna._

_As the stars twinkle above us, the only thing brighter is the awe shining in Renee's eyes while she watches. I inch closer to her, putting my arm around her in an entirely casual manner. "Did you know Anna and I... our first kiss was at the Starry Night Festival?"_

_"Yes," she cups her mittened hand to her mouth to try and muffle a giggle. "She described it in her diary, along with other... activities that followed."_

_If I were able to blush, I would. I am not embarrassed of how intimate Anna and I were, despite not having been married. However, it was a topic I would discuss with my male friends—I would dare not speak of such actions in front of a lady._

_"Yes, well..." I search for a way to steer the conversation into a less vulgar subject, but Renee takes the reins._

_"My first kiss was..." She pauses, and I still as well. I hadn't quite considered the possibility that she too would have a suitor, although it would hardly be shocking that any of the young men on the island would be taken with her. She has mentioned many male friends: Toby, Kevin, Chase, Luke...I only know them through the stories she tells of their antics, but that is enough for me to know that they are not worthy of her affections._

_"Y-Yes?" I stammer, if only because—oh, Anna, I'm so sorry—I would like to place myself in the shoes of whatever lucky young man was so privileged to give Renee her first kiss._

_She plays with the hem of her coat, not meeting my curious stare. "It was...sweet. Literally, sweet. ...I gave him shortcake for Winter Harmony Day and he tried it, said it was good, thanked me. And then... when I said 'You're welcome,' he just...kissed me."_

_He sounds like a woefully immature boy, not the man that Renee deserves. I say nothing, however, because of the dreamy smile she is wearing. Some nights, warm and secure in my bed after making love, Anna would give me the same look. Whoever this boy is that Renee gave cake to and had the gall to not even_ _**ask permission** _ _before kissing her means he is something that she has, until now, refrained from sharing with me._

_It is absolutely maddening._

_Just then, there's a spray of light above us: shooting stars. I bring her body closer to mine. She gasps, and I see in her eyes surprise, but also an unbridled excitement._

_"Make a wish," I tell her, and cover her lips with my own._

* * *

Toby trudges away from Moon Hill with his hands shoved in his pockets, taking care to not give a damn about how much it makes his foot hurt to stomp so hard, or how his ears are so cold that they're burning.

It'd been a perfectly acceptable Starry Night Festival with Paolo, his little cousin praising Toby both for letting him stay up for the whole festival—a lot later than Ozzie ever would—and for buying him hot cocoa with extra whipped cream on top.

That was, until Kevin and Kathy showed up. Then _they_ were the super-cool ones, and Toby was just Paolo's boring cousin.  And Toby _got_ that whole ten-year-old mentality, he did. He just wished either Kathy or, especially, Kevin would have had the loyalty to say _something_ to Paolo, instead of just allowing Paolo to come tag along with them, without any reservation. As if they agreed with his judgment of Toby wholeheartedly.

Then again, they didn't know that his plans to meet Renee at the lighthouse this year were off, and probably just assumed they were doing him a favor, getting Paolo out of his hair so he could go into town as soon as possible.

The night sky gleams and flickers, and then the streak of the shooting star causes him pause, right at the edge of the Flute Bridge. He blinks up at it, making his wish as quickly as possible.

_IwantReneetomarrymeIwantReneetomarrymeIwantTomtoleave **us** aloneforever._

He winces at how unrestrained his loathing is, how interwoven it is with his love for Renee. It turns his stomach that he can so easily envision himself swinging his fishing rod furiously into Tom's side, and immediately Anna's diary springs to mind. She'd never been anything more than even-keel, not until V wouldn't back off Tom.

"Move it or lose it!" A voice bites at him, a split-second before its owner collides with him, knocking him to the brittle, frosted grass.

On the ground across from him, her amber eyes glowing dangerously, is the Fugue Witch. Toby scuttles backwards out of instinct, having heard too many rumors about her temperament, as well as her thirst to wreak havoc on any human that crosses her—and he's pretty certain bumping into her is enough to qualify him as just that.

But she just stands with an indignant _hmph_ , smoothing out the heavy wool cape that's wrapped around her, and adjusts her black satin-trimmed hat. "Oh. It's just you, Tony. Good, I was looking for you anyway."

That can't possibly be good, but he's so stricken with a mix of fear and confusion, that he can only manage to correct her. "T-Toby." _Who cares_ what she calls him, as long as she doesn't curse him into oblivion.

"Whatever. I didn't recognize you without your Plain Jane. She out trolloping around with good ol' _Tom_?" She spits his name with such venom, Toby almost smiles.

The confusion that she would even _know_ about Tom is evident in his lack of reply, his willingness to just gape at her stupidly instead of pressing his luck by doing something foolish like talking to her.

"What, you think I don't see what's goin' on all over this putrid island? C'mon, get up, I'm not gonna hurt you." She proffers a hand, which Toby takes; her grip is strong, for someone of such small stature. "I see and know _everything,_ kid. I know that the fat-ass Mayor dances around in his underwear when he's home alone and I know that his goofball son still sucks his thumb in his sleep. I know that dancer fakes it whenever that retarded carpenter bangs her. And I know what _Tom_ is up to, and even though you were _dumb_ enough to go to the Wizard first, I'm willing to _really_ help you. If you help me."


	3. Without the Torch You Lift in Your Hand

_This must be what it's like to be alive again. Not just the physical sensation of her lips on mine, her slight body in my arms, but the_ _ **feeling**_ _strumming through me... to her... both of us.  
  
She breaks away from me, scrambling to her feet and hugging herself as she backs away. Her eyes are wet, holding in them... it must be fear but no, I couldn't possibly frighten her, could I? The only prospect that scares me —that __should_ _scare **her** —is us being separated again.  
  
"Anna..." I register my mistake too late when she whimpers, hugging herself as if to provide protection. "Renee, please..."  
  
"No!" Her voice, though loud, is tremulous and she takes a faulty step backward, as if I'd struck her. "Tom, it's not like that."  
  
__"Isn't it?"_ _I take hold of her arm as she turns to leave, attempting to force her gaze on mine. In her tear-sheeted eyes, I search for the truth, because I know her words are anything but._ _  
  
__"I... I have to go."  
  
She jerks her arm and I release her, but not before I tell her, "You will come back to me." What she says in reply I can not hear or make out, her hand covering her mouth before she makes a hasty departure.  
  
I'm not requesting that she return. I'm simply stating fact._

* * *

"But I don't even know you. Why would you want to help _me_?" Toby crosses his arms, just as much from the cold as from still being on the defensive.  
  
Not _why would I want to help you?_ Because Toby already knows the answer to that: he's desperate and he really doesn't have the first clue about _doing_ anything, especially when it's against someone—some _thing—_ like Tom _._ He needs help, badly, and so far everything that he would have expected to _actually_ help—reassurance from Kevin, consulting the Wizard and just having faith in Renee, hoping for the best—hasn't done a thing.  
  
"Okay, fine," she gruffs. "I don't give a Harvest Sprite's flying fart about you. I'm just interested in one thing only: getting rid of Tom. And I need you to help me."  
  
Regardless of the Witch's opinion of him, Toby isn't stupid. The Wizard's plan hadn't intended any harm, and look where that landed them. The Witch is openly admitting she has zero interest in what could or could not happen to him, and he knows of all the people on Castanet, he's hardly the most capable of meeting deadlines, of assisting in any competent manner.  
  
Wanting to do the right thing and actually being able to; the chasm between the two feels as endless as the oceans' waters to Toby.  
  
"I don't know if I'm the best person to—"  
  
"Oh, you are. Trust me, I wish it was anyone but you, kid, but you're the one I need. And if you want that stupid music box back, you won't argue with me again, got it?" The Witch is inches from him now, finger thrust in his face.  
  
"The...you have the music box?"  
  
"Yeah, I stole that piece of crap back years ago when some moron left the window wide open, and there it was, just sitting on the windowsill."  
  
In the back of his mind, he realizes how downright odd it is that he's actually talking to the Witch. That he _wants_ to keep talking to the Witch, because every sentence she hatefully spews out is reeling the solution to this mess closer and closer to the surface.  
  
"You stole it... back?"  
  
"Because it's mine!" The Witch stamps her foot and the whole bridge rattles. Toby has to set a hand on the rail to prevent himself from slipping. When he looks back at the Witch, her fists are balled up, clutching in her pale bloomers. She won't quit stomping around.  
  
"I made it for Tom, enchanted it with a special song. And then he turned right around and gave it to the first cow-stinking rube _bitch_ who would spread her legs for him." The sneer she puts on is forced, betraying her harsh words.  
  
Toby starts to offer her a general comment of consolation—he supposes he is indeed sorry, not even the Witch deserves to have her heart trampled like that—but she cuts him off, stomping her foot again.  
  
"It's so unfair! You know what I mean, right, Tony?! Love is so frickin'...  _stupid_! You do everything for someone and they just take it for granted! I came to see him _every_ day, even helped him with his farm. Like you do with your girl. I see the two of you, just like me and Tom, 'cept my spells actually made his farm a success and you just sit there like a dope petting sheep."  
  
Toby nods, partially in agreement that to an outsider, yes, that's likely what it appears, and partially to show the Witch that he is listening. Interested, even.  
  
"And for what? So he could impress precious _Anna,_ his 'true love.' True love! Pfeh. More like 'true hormones'. I told that two-timing lowlife _my name_ but I guess none of that shit matters if you don't put out. And then his stupid ass had to go and _die_ before I ever got revenge. How unfair is _that_?!"  
  
The Fugue Forest, the aggressive nature, the label of 'stalker'....The Witch is 'V'. Toby doesn't know a whole lot about the Witch, the Wizard, or any of the supposed deities occupying Castanet Island, but from the sermons that Perry's given, he knows that for a mortal to be trusted with their name is momentous. Even Perry, a man of the cloth, doesn't know the real name of the Harvest Goddess. That privilege is reserved solely for those the deities fall in love with.  
  
Except right now the Witch is hardly the almighty magical being that she holds herself up to be, that she makes sure everyone fears and respects. For as much as she allegedly despises humans (and Toby now has a good idea _why_ ) she's very human herself right now, vulnerable and emotionally frail.  
  
It occurs to Toby that this could all very well be a charade, expertly-twisted lies, used to guilt-trip him into complying. But it's working.  
  
He waits for the Witch to compose herself, growing uneasy inside that he can trust her easier than he can Renee. Even if her description of the events may be fabricated, whatever she must have felt—and still feels—for Tom clearly isn't.  
  
"So what, you just gonna  stand there staring into space like a dipshit, or are you gonna help me out?"  
  
"I... what do I have to do?"  
  
There's a dangerous flare in the Witch's eyes, and the air around them starts to pop in an angry heat. "You're kidding, right? I don't have to explain myself to a _human_. You want that music box, and you want Tom gone, then you'll agree to help me without asking insolent questions!"  
  
This is his only choice, and it's not that he doesn't doubt the Witch can follow through on her promise. It's all a matter of what collateral damage there might be. He's willing to risk everything for Renee, just not Renee herself.  
  
"But—"  
  
"Do I need to draw you a damn picture! You don't dispose of Tom soon, then you can say goodbye to your little girlfriend. Because if Tom decides he doesn't wanna go back on his own, he'll make sure she goes—" The Witch slices her thumb across her throat. "—with him."  
  
With those words, the world stops around Toby; he didn't know someone could experience all these emotions— fear, anger, love—at the same time, and not actually spontaneously combust. In his mind, he automatically agrees to helping the witch—yes, _yes_ , anything to save Renee—but all that comes out is a choked squawking noise.  
  
"Oh, the Wizard didn't tell you that, huh?" Toby doesn't like the way she smirks, as if it's so much more important that she, in her mind, bested the Wizard than the matter of their lives being at stake. "Of course not. That little potion of his? Who do you think created it in the first place? He's been taking credit for my spells for centuries."  
  
"Wh-What.... What... ha-happ..." He can't get the words out; perhaps he doesn't really _want_ to know.  
  
"You wanna know what happens?" She lets out a mirthless laugh. "Well, I don't know, Tony! You don't sound very committed to helping me, why should I do you any favors?"  
  
"Okay!" Toby extends his hand to shake on it. "You have a deal. I'll help you however I can!"  
  
She clasps her hand in his, and Toby gasps from how crushing it is.

"Damn right you will."

* * *

 _I am still not fully aware of time and its passing, but I calculate it's been nearly a week since Renee's visited me last. I had expected —nay,_ _**been** _ _positive—that our kiss only bonded us deeper, but apparently it isn't so.  
  
I miss her so terribly, not just her physical presence, but because without Renee there to act as a guide through the mist that is my memory, I'm left with nothing to occupy myself with. So many patches of the past that are, at best, hazy outlines of events, but mostly they are just holes, irreparable without her aid.  
  
I come to realize that the few pieces I _ _**can** _ _recall are those linked to my strongest emotions, such as the melody of the music box, or my final moments sprinting disoriented through the forest, filled with nothing but terror.  
  
To only have such extreme options to pull from is simultaneously depressing and infuriating, a reminder of the state I'm in. I can not understand why this is happening. Why it is that my actions and the emotions at their core are so beyond my control, as if I am possessed. A ghost, the one being possessed—ha! Who ever heard of such nonsense?  
  
And so, my misery either brings me to tears or spurs me into fits of rage so consuming that I'm blinded with anger, and the only outlet is destroying what's around me. Already I've warped parts of the iron fence that encloses the graveyard, and reduced portions of the nearby stairs to rubble.  
  
Today is one of those sad days, my surroundings proving as such. Snow blankets the ground beneath me as more continues to fall, glittering like crystals against the grey mid-morning sky. In an effort to curb my rampant emotions, I focus as much I can on experimenting with it. My hands and feet leave prints in it, though incredibly light, as if I applied only the barest pressure. With some work, I can hold it, pack it into a snowball much like I could were I alive. But like the air around me, I can't discern its temperature, nor can I sense any weight to it.  
  
I don't even remember if I cared much for the Winter or not, when I was alive. Without any intention to, the snowball in my hands is obliterated, frosty chunks bursting everywhere as if it'd made a solid impact on someone's back. For no reason other than that I am tired of losing everything—my life, my memories, Renee, and now this snowball—I begin to weep silently._

* * *

Maneuvering through the Fugue Forest is no easy task. Doing so under the dark of snow-covered trees, in the cold, with a five pound sack of Shining Sugar under one arm and an axe in the other is close to impossible.  
  
Every day Toby has trekked over an hour each way, to and from the Witch's hut, delivering her ingredients for her potion. He's told the few who've wondered about his whereabouts that he's found a new fishing hole around the swamp surrounding the Witch's Hut, which isn't untrue. As payment, the Witch has permitted that Toby can fish on _her_ property, and he's come back with a sizable haul each time, including a large Dorado that's being grilled up tomorrow for Paolo's birthday dinner.

Kevin's offered to join him, but his rib injury is still lingering. He can hardly use his hoe more than a couple times without pain (or without getting earfuls from both Kathy and Doctor Jin, who is running low on painkillers), so chopping his way through the dense brush of the Fugue Forest is out of the question.  
  
So, to prevent Kevin from feeling utterly useless, Toby puts him on Renee patrol.  Has him make sure she doesn't wander off to Tom's grave again. Which is great, because now Renee can get upset with Kevin instead of him.  
  
If everything goes as planned, however, in less than forty-eight hours, Renee will be the opposite of upset. She'll have the music box. The key to locking away Tom's lost, violent soul will be hers, and this can all be put to rest for good.  
  
He uses his foot to knock on the door, and the Witch greets him with a huge grin. "Excellent!" She grabs the sugar out of his arms, and rushes over to her boiling cauldron, where all the ingredients Toby's brought her over the past week—shining milk, sea urchins, melted-down Rare Ore—simmer in a thick, burbling gel.  
  
Carefully, she stirs in small increments, and Toby watches with silent interest as it snaps and bubbles.  
  
"You're sure this won't hurt Renee?"  
  
The Witch pierces him with a glare that makes him honest-to-Goddess gulp. "Look, Tony, I can't promise anything. That potion you used to bring Tom back has them all _bonded_ and crap, kind of like master and servant. So I'm not _sure_ of anything, but I don't hear you offering any other bright ideas."  
  
She's done basically all the talking, bossing him around and scolding him, and rambling on about what an asshole Tom was (and still is). He allows her to do it, because it doesn't bother him. Not too much, anyway. She's probably never shared this heartbreak (that's what it is; Toby can't be convinced otherwise) with anyone, secluded here in the swamp. However useless she likes to label him, he knows he's helping her just as much as she is him.  
  
"So... that's why she's acting all...?" He can't find it in himself to describe Renee negatively. "Not like herself?"  
  
"What, why she's perma-PMSing? Yeah, ghosts are nothin' but a big old cloud of emo. So if he's miserable, she's miserable; he's scared, she's scared. Etcetera, yadda yadda yadda. You get it?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Another measured silence, and Toby's gaze pans to the music box resting on one of the Witch's shelves. He probably got a bit ahead of himself by telling Renee that he'd found it in the swamp one day while fishing. Especially since he had to come up with another excuse of why he couldn't give it to her right away.  
  
Water damage, of course. He's letting it dry out, has to get rid of some of the rust. Even if he can't match Phoebe's prowess with _creating_ anything mechanical, he's handy enough to take care of a few repairs.  
  
"So, you still planning to ask What's-Her-Name to marry you? Once we take care of Tommy?"  
  
After the Starry Night Festival-that-wasn't incident, Toby stowed away any thoughts of presenting Renee with the Blue Feather any time soon—this whole experience resulted in their relationship needing a couple repairs before it shifted to the next level. Only, hearing the Witch ramble on about Tom "getting away"—however much she says she hates him, it's obvious to Toby that abhorrence is born out of having loved with an equal passion—has changed his mind.  
  
"Yeah. I can't imagine life without her," Toby tells her, adding in about the Blue Feather still locked in his dresser.  
  
"That's so sweet. Disgusting, but sweet. Bring it tomorrow. Yeah? A trade: you show me the blue feather, I'll have the potion and music box ready."  
  
Something stops Toby from agreeing instantaneously. He doesn't have a choice, to _not_ obey her. But soon, he won't have a chance. There are questions still tugging at the edges of his mind, and he's not ready to give up and reel the line in.  
  
"Alright," he starts, and with great effort pushes out the next statement. "But only if you tell me about Tom."  
  
"Excuse you?"  
  
"Tom." Now that Toby's got the toughest part out, the rest just keeps coming. "I'd... _appreciate_ it. I'm just trying to... none of what's going on right now makes sense, and I feel like it _could_ , even a little, if I knew what happened between you two. I mean, I've... told you a lot about Renee."  
  
It's strange, to say the least, discussing his love life with the Fugue Witch. But over the past week, she's been not entirely unpleasant to talk to. Despite being so crass, having no concept of tact, at least she's honest. And the only time she threatened Toby was when he nearly spilled the milk.  
  
Toby figures that if she wanted him to shut up, she'd tell him as much, point-blank. Or hex him into doing so. But the most she's responded with are eye-rolls and making disgusted, impatient noises.  
  
Much like she does now. "Yeah? Well, I never asked you to. That was _alllll_ your decision."  
  
"Well, now it's my decision to listen to you, if you... need someone to talk to. About... him. It seems like you do, and..."  
  
Witch sighs again, even more exasperated. "Okay, Fishlips, fine. Spare me the compassion. But there's not much to tell. Tom's dead, and he's a piece of shit. As opposed to when he was alive, and surprise, surprise: also a piece of shit."  
  
"No." Toby shakes his head. "You said it yourself: you were in love with him. He couldn't have been... like that. Like he is now."  
  
He doesn't add in all that he's derived from Anna's diary. Goddess, does Toby loathe Tom the Ghost, but Tom the human? If the Witch cared this deeply about him, then he had to be special.  
  
The Witch turns her back on Toby, crosses to the nearest chair. He watches, with bated breath, not entirely convinced she won't find a way to add _him—_ that is, parts of him—to her potion.  
  
"He was some posh rich kid the Mayor's son knew from school, from the mainland. Nobody thought he would last here, but the town was desperate. They were willing to take any ol' joker, and so, yup, Tom fit the bill. Showed up, was completely useless for a couple seasons, barely gettin' by. Guess he thought it'd be all fun and games, getting to pal around with his buddy. Made for good entertainment though, watching him blunder his way through his first year."  
  
Toby thinks of Kevin. Of his struggles, even with the moderate amount of past farming experience he had, spending many of his teenage Summers at a relative's farm and pitching in wherever he could. A far cry from maintaining a farm year round, but it was all Mayor Hamilton could find.  
  
"He stayed though; he must have been... " Toby pauses, searching for the right word; Anna had described Tom as stubborn, loyal to Castanet and the mayor's son, Alexander, to a fault. "...dedicated."  
  
"Right, sure," the Witch begrudgingly accepts. "Or he was just sticking around so he could put it in Anna. Either way, if it weren't for me, he would have been dead his first Winter here."  
  
Toby's eyes widening—opening, even—speaks to his shock.  
  
"Yeah, that's right. I saved his spoiled ass from freezing to death in the middle of forest. A blizzard had wrecked his farm the day before—ha, it almost destroyed the whole town, actually! Good times." A wistful smile touches the Witch's lips, before she shakes it off, returning to the matter at hand. "Er, anyway, brilliant _Tom_ decided he should try gathering lumber and stone in the forest, even when it was barely above zero, and all while suffering from double pneumonia. I found him passed out, and shit, Tony, he was about the same color as your hair."  
  
Toby nods, urging her to continue.  
  
"Of course, I took pity on him. That was my first mistake. Brought him back to my hut, all because he was a pretty picture to look at. Nursed him back to health, even..." she wrinkles her nose in disgust, "...got to know him. Talked to him. I should have known better, but..."  
  
"You were lonely?"  
  
"No! I don't _get_ lonely! Tch, more like I was young and naive. You know how it is, don't ya? You're in the same boat as me; some hot piece of farm meat bats their long blond lashes at you, and it's over. You're done for."  
  
"Uh..." Toby hedges around answering. The Witch isn't _wrong_ ; Renee is the most beautiful girl in the world, and happens to work on a ranch. And her eyes put the stars in the sky to shame, but, "It isn't just about looks. For me, anyway. "  
  
"Yeah, okay, fine. Maybe there was a little more. I kind of loved that Tom started visiting me after that, out of gratitude. Like he'd bring me stuff for my spells, and just..." The Witch's gaze slips away from Toby, her voice softening. "He would talk to me, about what was going on out on this shithole island. Made it sound not half-bad, all the Festivals and other stupid crap that only you _humans_ enjoy. And after a while, I'd come see him. But he didn't realize what a big deal it was, me leaving the swamp—me associating with him at all! He was busy making googly eyes at Anna."  
  
If Toby were closer, both physically and emotionally, to the Witch, he'd reach out a careful hand, set it on her arm or shoulder, console her. But he's several steps away, and so he does nothing, except regret bringing this all up. "I... I'm sorry," he says, because he doesn't know how else to respond. He finds that he means it.  
  
"I don't need your _sorry_. It was my own dumb fault for getting involved—like I said, it won't happen again, so don't expect me to say a word to you after we're all said and done here. You know, I'm one of the most powerful magical beings this world has ever seen, but... I don't understand; for the first time, it was as if someone had cast a spell on _me_ , and I still can't figure out how he did it. Guess I never will, since he had to go and die. The jackass."  
  
"Before you got your revenge," Toby recalls what she'd said the night of the Starry Night Festival. It's bothered him, incessantly. As if what she had in store for Tom was somehow worse than a premature death.  
  
"Oh, _please,_ don't make me out to be some kind of monster. I wasn't gonna _hurt_ him; I was still holdin' out hope he'd wake up one day and realize a good thing when he saw it. I wasn't gonna ruin that work of art by marring it with scars or warts, or whatever you're thinking. All I was gonna do was fuck with him and Anna. Make their lives a living hell."  
  
And ruined the friendship they'd built. Toby is certain, now, that Tom _had_ loved her back. In his own way. Valued her, dearly, as a friend and a confidant. And that all the epithets she's hurling towards him are a projection. The Witch is guilty of everything she's accusing Tom of, the abandonment and backstabbing. The manipulating. She's _almost_ as bad as Tom is now.  
  
Which...  
  
A thought occurs to Toby.  
  
"You used spells on Tom's farm. Did you ever use a spell, like a curse, on _him_?"  
  
The Witch scowls. "What? What makes you think that?!"  
  
"Well, you're always threatening us.... not _me_ in particular, but just the reputation that precedes you. Y'know, look out for the Fugue Witch; she might hex you if you look at her the wrong way."  
  
"Ha, true." She lifts her chin in a haughty manner. "Yeah, actually. Like I said, he knew my name, and that wasn't gonna fly, not if he was shacking up with that floozy from Horn Ranch. So, after he told me he was planning to propose to Anna, I cast a spell on him to make him forget it."  
  
"And?" Toby thinks he knows the answer already, but he needs the Witch to confirm it.  
  
"And it didn't work! And I was pissed as hell, because I'd already embarrassed myself enough, so lemme tell ya, Tony, I wasn't really the best company at that moment! And Tom... well, good ol' Tom, it turned out, was just like every other one of you worthless humans: terrified of me, like he'd _always_ been. There sayin' he wants to stay friends with me, but sure is quick to change his mind when that all went down—worried that I'd somehow hurt all his other friends, the ones he was too ashamed to ever mention me to."  
  
Toby tries to parse through her simmering hatred, sift out the useful bits. He feels weaker, somehow, with the hut packed, stuffed to every corner with the heat of the Witch's rage. He swallows, wishing he could will his sympathy—pity, maybe?— towards her telepathically.  
  
"Did it—the spell, I mean—did it... have any effect on him? Anything, at all?"  
  
"Oh, I couldn't tell ya. I told him to get the hell out of my hut, and he booked it out of the swamp, and I never saw him again—alive, anyway. " A twisted smile pulls at her lips. "No one did."  
  
Tom died in the Fugue Forest after encountering the Witch.  Could it really be a coincidence, an _accident_ , like what Anna described?  
  
This whole time, Toby had understood it to mean something that occurred while on his farm. It wasn't the most unheard thing, though thankfully hadn't happened to anyone Toby had been personally linked to. And an accident on the farm lent itself to the possibility of being gory, which Toby surmised was the case. Unseemly enough that Anna couldn't bear to detail it. Opposed to simply stating that Tom may have drowned, or died from a fall. Just, he was _gone_.  
  
"I didn't kill him," she says, as if reading Toby's mind. "What fun are humans to mess with if they're dead? Of course, since he died in the forest, _Anna_ and whole damn town decided to make me a scapegoat. Like it wasn't obviously an accident! But I don't need those morons. I've always been an outcast anyway. If they hated me more, then so what? If anything, it at least made them _fear_ me more, as they should!"  
  
"But if your spell went haywire and didn't..." Toby hesitates, knowing he needs to be extremely careful in how he words this. "If it didn't have the intended effect, and it was right before he died, do you think, maybe, that's the reason he's so... unhinged in ghost form? Because he died with _some_ kind of strong magic in him." Toby doesn't add on the second half of what's come to light. Maybe it's not only the spell; it's the one who cast it. That there's something _of_ the Witch, of her depthless resentment and jealousy, stuck in Tom.  
  
"Ha! Never thought about that! Guess you're not as dumb as you look. Maybe only half." She throws him a smile that he assumes is meant to put him, even a little, at ease. "But yeah, now that you mention it, I wouldn't be surprised. The spell I used on him was one of my more powerful ones. So maybe it did stick around. But who cares, right? By this time tomorrow, Tom'll be history. Just as long as you bring me that feather."  
  
"Yeah," Toby says. "I will. I'll show you."  
  
The Witch stands up, walking over to Toby and pushing onto her tiptoes to give him a pat on the head. "Good boy. Now get on out of here. I have to watch this cauldron all night and make sure it's stirred properly. Your girl probably needs to be stirred properly too, after all that time with Tom. So you take care of your goods, and I'll take care of mine."  
  
Toby is too mortified by the Witch's crude remark to say anything other than a muttered farewell, picking up the axe where he left it upright against the wall. He inches the door open, and the snow never falls here in the Swamp, but with the way the wind is whipping about, he knows he'll be caught in a veritable whirlwind once he does reach the forest. Inhaling a deep breath, Toby takes the first step of his journey back.

"Be careful on your way out of the forest, Toby."  
  
Toby turns to see the witch leaning against the door's frame, a devilish smirk playing at her lips.  
  
He stares back at her, confused. Since when did the Witch show concern for anyone but herself?... or get his name right?  
  
Her eyes move pointedly from Toby's, to the axe, and back again. "Wouldn't want you to end up like poor Tom."  
  
She cackles and slams the door shut.

* * *

 _I do not notice I'm being approached until my arm is captured. By the pleasant_ _**alive** _ _warmth that envelops me, I know that it's Renee. She turns me  around, and I gaze into her lovely face.  It destroys my sadness much like the snowball. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and snowflakes have gathered on her lashes. A thick wool scarf is bunched about her chin and I carefully reach to unfold it down from her mouth.  
  
"I missed you..." She bows her head, the words falling in a whisper. "I'm so sorry... they wouldn't let me come see you..." _

_They? Obviously she means those awful_ _**boys** _ _she's spoken of, the ones who mean to separate us. Renee has not abandoned me after all. She is every bit as dedicated to me as I to her, and I abhor myself nearly as much as those pathetic suitors of hers for ever thinking otherwise.  
  
I tuck my hand under her chin, lifting her head back up that we might look at each other. When our eyes lock, I see hers are vacant, as if she's nothing more than a porcelain doll. This relaxes me, ensures me that the only one currently in control of her is not herself, but me.  
  
So I kiss her, tender and chaste at first but then she lets out a soft moan and I am lost in my want for more. Forcing open her coat, my hands are millimeters from sneaking under her sweater when she breaks us apart.  
  
"Tom, stop!" Her voice quavers on the verge of tears as she ducks out of my hold, darting several steps away and yanking her coat close with crossed arms. She shivers and scrunches tighter into her coat. Of course; it's probably downright frigid. Not the proper setting for what I was fixated on doing with Renee.  
  
"I missed you as well." It's my way of apologizing, I suppose. Justifying my actions. If she wants me to actually say that I'm sorry, I won't, because I'm most certainly not.  
  
"I shouldn't be here right now, but... I missed you," she repeats, although her tone suggests she's trying to persuade herself of this rather than me. She throws a glance backward, as though expecting to be interrupted as any minute. "And I wanted to tell you that.... that I found the music box."  
  
This stuns me, so many feelings assailing me that I sink down to sit upon my gravestone. Not a single one of those feelings is the thrill I had predicted I would experience, and I bury my face in my hands.  
  
"Tom..." After again checking over her shoulder, Renee inches closer to me and takes my hand away with her gloved one. "I don't have it right now. It's being repaired, so I can bring it in a few days. And I didn't want to spring it on you out of nowhere. I wanted to give you... and myself... time."  
  
Just like Anna, so considerate, always thinking of others' needs before her own. If only to keep Renee here with me for as many precious seconds as possible, I interrogate her about the music box.  
  
"Are you sure it's fixable?"  
  
"Yes... it's mostly just water damage, I guess."  
  
"Water damage? Where on Earth was it?"  
  
"In the Fugue Swamp...I 'm not sure how it got there but—"  
  
"Renee!?"  
  
A third, unfamiliar voice rings out from a distance. Renee abruptly breaks from me and hurries to the stairs, impeded by their deteriorating state as well as the ice. About halfway up, she is met by a frazzled-looking young man who must be hardly out of his teenage years, and neither of them appear very happy to see the other.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?!"  He takes her by the arm in an effort to pull her up the stairs with him. "You know it's dangerous to go here by yourself. Your parents and Toby are gonna kill me, I told them I'd look out for you and make sure you stay away from here!"  
  
I catch her eyes flicking in my direction, but we both know full well that whatever was used to returned me to this half-life has chained me to my grave; I can not leave the vicinity of the cemetery (oh, how I've tried), else I would follow her back to Horn Ranch to spend every moment by her side.  
  
"I'm fine! I'm not a little girl, Kevin, I can take care of myself."  
  
Again, he reaches for her, this time with an impatient sigh. "Renee, let's just go. Please? Let's go back to my place, how's that? I'm done with farming for the day. We could just hang out and watch Sprite Rangers or something."  
  
Sparks of anger ignite in me. Kevin. The boy who she told me I had attacked out of jealousy, and no wonder. He's inviting her to be alone with him? When she belongs with me?! _ _**To** _ _me?  
  
A chunk of the stair Renee's standing on crumbles away; she falls forward and Kevin catches her, asks if she's all right. She does not answer. Instead, she is staring down at me, and I swear I see her lips form "I'll come back'." before she pushes away from Kevin and retreats up the stairs. Just like a mutt, Kevin trails after her, begging her to wait up.  
  
As I watch, my vision becomes shrouded; a great cloud of steam surrounds me. Looking down, I see that all the snow within a five-foot circle has melted away, taking with it my burning anger and allowing me to view the situation in a clearer light.  
  
It strikes me as suddenly as death had. That Renee is not the one who will save me; I am the one who should save her. Anna said it herself in her diary: her desire to be reunited with me, and that death would not stop her love for me. And just as how Anna always saw me as her hero, her knight, Renee does too, because she _ _**is** _ _Anna, simply reborn.  
  
This _ _**Kevin** _ _and whoever else—this is why they're trying to keep us apart. They want Renee for themselves, are jealous of our love, much like I know Vivi was. They can not fathom doing what she wants to do, having never known love like this.  
  
I chuckle, but it quickly dissolves into an unstoppable laugh as senseless as I'd been failing to see the _ _**perfection** _ _of this.  
  
Before our argument, before my gruesome death, we had that last joyful memory of dancing to the music box. A memory so powerful that it brought me back to her, as it will deliver her to me. All I ever wanted was to dance with her again, and so we shall.  
  
But this time, we won't be parted. Not again, not ever. When I leave, she will come with me. I will make sure of it._

**Author's Note:**

> I never posted this on ao3 because I didn't think I'd ever have the desire to finish it. But after getting back into AP and rereading and tweaking things here and there, I've decided I really like this story. Plus, I have a lot more completed in my WIP folder than I originally thought. So, I'm going to do my best with trying to finish this.


End file.
